And We Stay
by LetMeWalkTheEarthWithYou
Summary: DARK/ Emily Prentiss & Aaron Hotchner/ - He remembers the scent of patchouli. The overwhelming scent of patchouli and a lonely girl, dancing barefoot in the snow.-/ follow up to "All You Never Say" / dark&twisty


**Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to their rightful owners.**

 **AN: Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and/or review my stories, that really means the world to me! And a BIG special thank you goes to my amazing beta reader, the wonderful greeneyedconstellations!**

 **Warning: might be trigger-ish, dark &twisty, follow up to "All You Never Say", takes place early in S4**

* * *

 **.**

 **And We Stay**

 **.**

 **.**

 _"Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to do nothing." - Gil Grissom, CSI Vegas_

 **.**

* * *

.

 **The Aftermath**

 _-even when you lie to me-_

.

"Are you ready, Jack?" Aaron asks, leaving his empty coffee cup in the sink on his way out the kitchen.

"No, Daddy," Jack mumbles from where he's sitting on the living room floor, building something with his LEGO's. "I need more bricks."

Aaron tries not to laugh. There are at least three hundred bricks scattered all over the floorboards already.

"I think there are enough bricks," Aaron states, and pushes a juice box and the space ship lunch box in Jack's backpack.

"But I need blue bricks. There aren't any." Jack looks sulkily at the floor and Aaron has to fight a sigh.

"Why don't you take green ones instead? I like green." Aaron reaches for the newspaper on the table, briefly overlooking the front page. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Jack's cereal bowl.

"Did you eat them all?" Aaron asks, truly surprised, looking over to where his son is still searching for the right bricks.

"No," Jack makes a face. "Just the blue and orange loops."

"And who ate the other ones?"

"Emily," Jack says, before putting a finger to his lips and whispering. "Don't tell Mommy, but Emily eats my broccoli too."

For a moment Aaron isn't sure how to react. _Of course._ He should have known better than to assume Jack wasn't making the same fuss about his eating habits at his place than he did at home with Haley.

"Are you angry?"

"No, Jack," Aaron hurries himself to answer, a smile forming on his face. "But promise me you'll eat at least your carrots."

Jack giggles. "They're orange, Daddy. Of course I eat them."

Aaron knows better than to start arguing about this, but he makes a mental note to talk to Haley. This was getting completely out of hand.

"I'm going to check if Emily's ready," Aaron announces, already making his way down the hall and back to his bedroom.

"We're about to leave, are you ready?" he calls. "Jack told me about-" He stops in the doorframe. The room is empty, except for her jacket carelessly tossed onto the bed, the bathroom door tightly shut, and even from where he's standing he can hear the sound of running water.

He shuts his eyes, takes a breath, ready to go back to the living room and _just let this go_ , when the bathroom door swings open.

There's not a single hair out of place, nothing that gives her away, but for a split second, in that moment right before she finds him watching, she looks like she's going to cry.

It's gone as soon as her dark eyes find his.

"Ready?" he asks.

Emily nods, a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

He wants to take her hand. _But he can't._

.

(He still remembers.)

.

* * *

.

 **The Things Between**

 _-still hoping that somehow-_

.

 _Peaceful._

The word seems wrong compared to the circumstances, and yet it's the first thing that comes to his mind when he gets a look at the scene.

The girl is lying under a tree, dressed in white, the branches above her head heavy with snow. Her long blonde hair surrounds her head like a halo, her skin flawless and pale, her lips painted a deep red. And with her eyes closed, it looks like she's sleeping.

"It's suicide," Emily states, all calm and measured, even when there's a tinge of impatience in her voice. "Why are we here?"

"Suicide?" Morgan echoes disbelievingly. "I'd say this looks damn staged, Prentiss."

"And I say it doesn't."

The anger in Emily's voice is evident. Morgan frowns and Aaron turns, meeting her gaze from where she's standing three feet away from them. There are snowflakes caught in her eyelashes and he wants to reach forward to brush them away.

"Why suicide?" Aaron asks, keeping his hands in the pockets of his coat.

She lowers her eyes, her gaze resting on the dead girl in the snow.

"Look at her," she says, her voice filled with longing. "She looks…"

"Peaceful," he finishes.

.

"We have a problem."

"What kind of problem?" Aaron asks, looking up from the table to meet Jordan's gaze from where she's standing in the doorframe.

"As it turns out, the town's coroner is the victim's uncle."

"Let me guess, there's no one else in this town who can do an autopsy," Aaron muses, rubbing his temples.

"I already made a few calls but in this weather, it'll take at least until tomorrow."

Aaron shakes his head, trying to fight a groan. He wouldn't be back in time to pick up Jack for the weekend. He had to call Haley.

"There's something else," Jordan continues. "We still need an autopsy to confirm it, but I found ultrasound pictures in the girl's locker. I think Emily could be right about this being a suicide. Being pregnant at seventeen isn't-"

"Not you too," Morgan cuts her off on his way into the room. "Pregnant or not, this has nothing to do with suicide. Have you even looked at those crime scene pictures?

Aaron stays quiet. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of Emily. She's standing at the window with a far away look on her face, her fingers fumbling with the cuffs of her blouse. Something's wrong. Something…

She must have felt him watching because she turns suddenly, her eyes meeting his and he's startled by the horror he finds in hers. Without a word, she heads for the door, pushing past Jordan on her way out.

"What's gotten into her today?" Morgan asks with a growing frown on his face.

"The weather," Aaron murmurs. "Just the weather."

.

He goes searching for her half an hour later, finds her in front of the police station with her arms crossed in front of her chest and her eyes turned skywards.

"You alright?" he asks when he gets closer. She's shivering, and Aaron feels the need to give her his jacket.

"Did you ever notice how quiet it gets when it starts to snow?" she asks. Her voice hoarse and all wrong. He wishes he hadn't noticed.

"Let's go back inside," he says, fighting the urge to pull her into his arms. "It's freezing."

Emily nods, but she doesn't move, keeps looking up into the dark sky instead. And there is it again, that far away look, as if she's somewhere else.

"Emily," he tries again, and this time he reaches for her after all, his fingers brushing against hers. She blinks and turns, sways, just a little, but he steps forward instantly, casually steadying her body with his.

"You need to eat something," he tells her, his voice gentle but firm. Leaving no place to argue. "It's late."

Emily shakes her head. Tries arguing anyway. "I'm fine," she insists, stepping away from him. "Where are we staying?"

"There's a hotel down the street," he says, and reaches in his jacket pocket to hand her a key. "You have to share a room with Jordan," he adds. "I'm sorry."

"No," Emily states, regarding him with a long look. "You're not."

.

(She's right. He isn't.)

.

* * *

.

 **The Things Between**

 _-and it feels so useless-_

.

 _Peaceful._

The word seems wrong compared to the circumstances, and yet it's the first thing that comes to her mind when she gets a look at the scene.

The girl is lying under a tree, dressed in scarlet, the branches above her head heavy with snow. Her flaming red hair surrounds her head like a halo, her skin flawless and pale, her lips painted a deep red. And with her eyes closed, it looks like she's sleeping.

"What about that suicide theory of yours?" Morgan asks. "Doesn't look much like suicide now, does it?"

"It's exactly what it looks like, if you ask me. "

"Are you kidding me, Prentiss?"

There's a sudden gust of wind, whipping at her coat and tossing her dark hair in the air, delivering a familiar scent and with it, a long forgotten memory.

She's faintly aware that Morgan's still talking to her, but she can't concentrate on his words. She takes one step back and then another, snow scrunching under her boots. The overwhelming earthy scent of patchouli makes her head spin.

She takes another step backwards, stumbles, and falls. She would have hit the ground if it hadn't been for Rossi. He catches her, steadies her with his hands on her arms, asks her if she's alright. She flinches away from him as if she's been burned.

"We don't have a case," she says. Cold, detached. _Determined_. "It's suicide." And then again. "We don't have a case."

.

"Whether we have a case or not, we're stuck in this place for the next twenty-four hours," Aaron tells them back at the station. "They're expecting a snow storm to hit within the hour, so we have no chance but to wait it out."

"That means no autopsy either, does it?" Morgan asks from where he's standing next to the window.

"I'm afraid so."

Rossi sighs, reaching for a piece of paper and a pen, telling them to write a list of what he should get them for dinner. Reid starts rattling off statistics about snowstorms in Minnesota, and Jordan is mumbling something about not having enough clothes with her.

Emily stays quiet, balancing her empty coffee cup on the edge of the table. She knows Aaron is watching her, can feel his gaze lingering, knows even without turning her head that he wears the same strained expression he gets when Jack plays with his toy cars on the kitchen table. And suddenly there's the unbearable need to do the same thing Jack does, every time he finds his father watching.

Before she can think better of it, Emily allows her cup to slip from between her hands. Aaron moves quickly, but it's futile.

With a satisfied smile on her lips, Emily watches as the cup shatters to pieces the second it hits the floor.

.

She's standing on the sidewalk in front of their hotel, watching snowflakes swirling through the dark. An icy wind is tearing at her thin jacket, sending her hair dancing in the wind. Her cheeks are burning from the cold, her whole body in pain from being outside for far too long.

She doesn't remember going back inside, or the way upstairs, or knocking at the door to Aaron's room. _But here she is._

It's not Aaron who opens the door though. It's Rossi, a glass of auburn liquid in one hand and the TV remote in the other, and it's just then that she remembers that she's not the only one who's supposed to share a room.

She finds herself seated on the edge of a bed a moment later, a blanket pulled tightly around her shoulders. Aaron looking up at her from where he's crouched down on the floor, his face worn with worry. She wants to tell him, knows that she needs to, but his _bloody_ red tie keeps glaring at her like a _god damn_ warning.

 _And maybe that's what it is after all._

The words get stuck in her throat, the walls are coming closer as her sight narrows and she knows she's about to fall. But then she's urged back down on the mattress with gentle hands, Aarons voice against her ear. Whispering sweet nothings she doesn't deserve.

She feels him lie down next to her, his arms around her waist to pull her close. His arms encircling her body, warming her with his. She lets him, too tired to fight, and buries her face against his chest when his familiar scent makes tears burn behind closed eye lids.

She needs to tell him. _But she can't._

.

(She remembers. She always has.)

.

* * *

.

 **The Things Between**

 _-still hoping that somehow-_

.

They find a third girl in the morning.

She's lying under a tree, just like the other two, the branches above her head ready to snap under the weight of the snow. She's dressed in black, her ebony hair surrounding her head like a halo. Her skin is flawless and pale, her lips painted black instead of red.

Her eyes aren't closed, but wide open, eyes so dark they appear to be black. Two dark orbs staring at the blue sky above, unseeing. There's no denying the smile playing on her lips.

 _It's utterly disturbing._

As is the resemblance. _She looks just like Emily_ , Aaron thinks, and the realization hits him full force. Even the black velvet vintage dress looks like the one she had worn a lifetime ago.

"What's that smell?" Jordan asks, and Morgan makes a face. "It smells like death."

"It's incense," Reid states and frowns, "but there's something else, something-"

"Am I the only one old enough to recognize the scent of patchouli?" Dave asks, raising his brows questioningly.

Aaron says nothing, his eyes linger on Emily, who's crouched down in the snow next to the dead girl, her gloved hand prying a picture from between the girl's frozen fingers.

He doesn't need to ask what it is.

"You're still clinging to that suicide theory of yours?" Morgan wants to know, and Aaron's about to step in, when something in the snow makes him blink.

"It's not a theory," Emily states. Her voice hard and cold. "It's-"

"Emily," Aaron interrupts. "You're bleeding."

She looks startled, then her hand comes up to her nose, leaving streaks of red on her pale skin when she tries to stop the blood flow. She gets up, steps backwards and further away.

The haunted look in her eyes makes him shiver.

.

"I think Emily is right," Reid declares a few hours later, looking through the autopsy reports spread out on the table. "There was a suicide pact." He points at the papers and pictures scattered everywhere. "They planned this in agonizing detail."

Aaron nods. Shuts his eyes.

"I know, Reid. I know."

The surprised look on Reid's face only makes him feel worse.

.

"We might have been able to save at least one of them, if we hadn't-"

"No," Emily interrupts Morgan from where she's sitting across the aisle, looking down at the picture in her hand. "We couldn't have."

There's confidence in her voice. Confidence and a longing Aaron can't stand.

"How did you know?" Jordan asks after a moment of silence. "How could you tell without any evidence that those girls committed suicide?"

Aaron watches Emily shrug, her gaze finally meeting his.

"I just did."

.

(He wishes he didn't know why.)

.

* * *

.

 **The Beginning**

 _-the end is where we begin-_

.

The first thing he notices is the freezing cold. With his hand on the wall he searches for the light switch, blinks when he finally found it and stops.

The office is trashed. Papers strewn all over the desk, broken glass littering the floorboards. The scent of bourbon and something else lingering heavy in the air, despite the fact that the double glass doors, leading into the garden, are left wide open. Snowflakes keep swirling through the room before settling down on the old wooden floorboards.

He takes a tentative step forward, reaches for his gun as he goes. He expects nothing; a burglar wouldn't wait to get caught, but when he pushes away the curtains to step outside he finds _her._

A dark haired girl in a short black velvet vintage dress, dancing barefoot in the snow. She's spinning in circles, her face turned toward the sky, humming something that sounds like an old childhood lullaby.

It takes him about thirty seconds to lower his gun.

"Who are you and what the hell are you doing out here?"

When she turns to face him, he can't help but stare. He's never seen eyes as dark as hers. There are snowflakes caught in her long eyelashes, her skin flawless and so pale that it seems almost translucent in the faint light that's falling through the windows.

"Matthew?" she whispers with black painted lips, her voice hoarse and slightly slurred.

Aaron frowns, already slipping out of his jacket. "No, I'm sorry, you-"

"How did you get here?" she asks, stumbling towards him. "I thought you were still in Rome?"

Aaron catches her halfway, steadying her body with his. Her skin is ice-cold, her long straight ebony hair frozen together at the ends.

"Are you Emily? Ambassador Prentiss's daughter?"

Instead of answering him, she rests her head against his chest. Her fingers curling around his _bloody_ red tie, giving it a slight tug. "You look ridiculous," she murmurs. "Almost like your father."

"Are you Emily?" he asks again, draping his jacket awkwardly over her small shoulders. Now that she's so close he notices the scent from the office. It's patchouli, the overwhelming scent of patchouli.

"What's wrong with you, Matthew?" she murmurs, a slight frown forming on her pale face when she pulls away to look at him.

"My name's Aaron," he states carefully, keeping her upright with his arm slung around her waist. "I work for your mother."

Another frown. "She's not here, is she?" she asks, her voice getting more slurred by the second. Something was disturbingly wrong and he had to admit that the rumors about the Ambassador's daughter were right after all. She was a disaster, a really beautiful one, but still, high as a kite, and considering the state of her mother's office…

Aaron shakes his head and tries his best to keep her standing, holding her a little tighter against his side, leading her back into the house.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs against his chest, and he's feeling even more uncomfortable than he did before. "I'm sorry, Matthew. I should have called you. I shouldn't have left like I did, I'm sorry, I'm…" her voice trails off, and she stumbles. Aaron barely manages to keep them both from falling.

They make it through the office and back into the hallway, before she stops without warning. Aaron's sure she's going to throw up and braces himself for the inevitable, but to his surprise she doesn't. She pushes him away, stumbling back in the direction of her mother's office.

"You need to leave," she says, all serious, even when she's barely able to stand. "Just go home, Matthew."

"My name's Aaron," he tries again. "I work for your mother, I can't leave." He watches her stumble backwards until she hits the wall. She looks lost and broken and so lonely that it's painful to keep looking at her.

"You need to sleep this off. Why don't you lay down in the living room and I'll call your mother?"

At first she looks almost panicked, but then she laughs. It sounds frantic. "You think she'd come home for her _fuck-up_ of a daughter? My mother won't even show up for my funeral, you'll see."

"I don't think-" Aaron starts again, and stops when he realizes what she just said. "Wait, what did you say? Your funeral?"

Instead of an answer, she reaches for the wall to steady herself.

"I'm tired," she whispers, and Aaron steps forward just in time to catch her when her knees give out from under her. "I'm so tired."

Before Aaron can fully grasp what's happening, her body goes limp in his arms.

.

* * *

.

 **The Aftermath**

 _-even when you lie to me-_

.

When he walks in on her, Emily's bent over the bathroom sink.

"Get out," she rasps, her hand frozen midair. Her eyes finding his in the mirror. "Leave me alone, Aaron."

Her voice is hoarse, and he thinks there's not just vomit on her fingers, but blood too. He feels his grip tighten around the doorknob.

"I thought you stopped doing that."

"And I thought I told you to get out."

He shuts his eyes, counts to ten.

"This is dangerous, Emily."

"So is working for the FBI," she taunts. "And still, we go back every _bloody_ morning. Don't we?"

He shakes his head. "You need to talk to someone. I can't keep on pretending." He stops himself, regrets his words as soon as they have left his mouth. He watches a shadow cross her pale face, her eyes growing even darker.

"You promised," she half whispers. "You promised me you'd let this go."

The distress in her voice makes him surrender. _She's drowning._ But there's just nothing he can do to stop it.

He pulls the door closed behind him even though he knows better. He lies back down in bed and shuts his eyes, pretends not to hear a thing. It's what got them here in the first place, isn't it?

And she's right, he promised. Even though he didn't do it in so many words.

When she slips back under the covers thirty minutes later, he's wide awake. He turns to reach for her, but then he stops. _He can't._

.

(He still remembers.)

.

* * *

.

 **The Things Between**

 _-still hoping that somehow-_

.

"I don't like it."

Emily rolls her eyes. "You already said that."

"And I'm going to say it again: I don't like it." He steps forward to zip up her dress. "Does this thing really have to be that short?"

"You weren't complaining about it when I wore it last week."

"Only because last week you wore it for me."

He bends forward, his lips brushing against her neck.

"Aaron," she warns. "Now isn't the time."

"I know," he murmurs against her skin, and allows his hands to find their way under her dress anyway.

"Aaron," she breathes, and this time it sounds like more than a plea.

"Don't go in there. Someone else can do it, someone-"

She pulls away instantly. Her dark eyes filled with anger when she turns around to face him.

"Do you think I can't do this?"

"I never said that."

"Then what? Why would you send someone else in there instead of me?"

"Why are you so eager to do this? It's not the first time. It's like-"

"It doesn't bother you because you're worried about me," she states, cutting him off sharply. "It only bothers you because I don't give a _fuck_ right?"

"Emily-" he starts, but she just shakes her head at him.

"Just get out, I need to get ready."

.

"Who is she talking to? Is this our unsub?"

"No," Morgan answers thoughtfully. "They must know each other from somewhere, she called him Daniel. But it's too loud, I don't really - _god, damn it_ -"

There's a high pitched sound, loud enough for Aaron to hear even without headphones on. Morgan makes a face as if in pain, pressing a hand against his ear.

"What happened?"

"The earpiece, something- Hotch!"

But Aaron's already out the van. He's pushing past people and inside the club, scanning the dance floor. At first it seems impossible to find her in the dim light of the underground club, but he makes his way through the crowd anyway, shoving away people until he finally spots Emily next to the bar.

When his fingers brush against her arm, she spins around quickly, and if he hadn't known any better he'd have said she looked horrified. It's gone the moment she realizes it's him. She blinks and then her eyes light up with anger.

"What do you think you're doing?"

It's not until he catches people around them staring that Aaron remembers he's wearing an FBI jacket. He's about to answer when he notices something else: the earpiece crushed on the floor, right under Emily's high heels.

.

"When are you going to tell me what happened?"

"You mean except you overreacting?"

"I wasn't over-"Aaron stops himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just tell me what happened."

"I already told you," Emily states, but there's a slight quiver in her voice. "I don't know what happened to that earpiece; you saw how crowded this place is." She gestures back at the club.

Aaron sighs, shaking his head slightly. "Who's Daniel?"

He watches her take an involuntary step back and then another one and another one. She looks like he just slapped her.

"No one," she states, pulling his jacket closer around her body. "You must have misheard something."

"What did he say to you?"

"Who?"

"That guy in the club, what did he say to you?"

"Nothing."

"Emily."

"He didn't say anything."

"Emily, this isn't a question. Tell me what he said to you."

She looks utterly surprised, but only for a moment. She nods and turns, making her way over to the car they came in. She returns a moment later, his FBI jacket swapped for her coat, shoving her badge and her gun against his chest.

"He didn't say anything," she states, her gaze blank, _giving him nothing._

 _._

(He can't save her, but it won't keep him from trying though.)

.

* * *

.

 **The Things Between**

 _\- and it feels so useless-_

.

 _Just breathe._

With her back against the kitchen counter and her eyes closed, Emily's sitting on the floor, trying to ignore the ringing of her phone.

Her head hurts and all she wants to do is sleep, but her phone won't stay quiet. She can't say what time it is, but she's sure she's supposed to have shown up at the office a while ago.

The ringing stops, but only to start all over again a moment later, and Emily feels the childish need to scream. She should just answer it, she knows, _but she can't._

She opens her eyes, watches the room blur in front of her, and it takes her a while to make out her phone on the floor, but even longer to reach it. Without looking at the display, she throws it across the room, watches as it breaks and shatters when it hits the wall.

It becomes silent.

 _Finally._

.

She's startled awake by someone calling her name.

It sounds wrong, coming from far, far away and yet it's too loud, making her wince.

"Emily."

She blinks and blinks and blinks and when her sight clears, Aaron's crouched down in front of her, reaching for her face with one hand and for her wrist with the other.

"Emily."

She frowns. There are snowflakes melting on his coat.

"Emily."

Her name never sounded more wrong. She tries to pull her hand back, but she can't. She's too tired to move.

"Have you been drinking?"

She shakes her head. No. She hasn't. _Or has she?_

"You need to talk to me, Emily." He sounds worried, his voice strained. "Emily!" He reaches for her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"Did you take something?"

No. Maybe. She's not sure. She shakes her head anyway, but the movement makes her dizzy and she has to close her eyes to keep the room from spinning.

"No, Emily, look at me. Emily!"

She blinks again, wondering why she's so tired. His features blur in front of her eyes, his _bloody_ red tie glaring back at her.

 _God, how much she hates those fucking ties._

"Why?"

Emily frowns, confused.

"My ties, Emily, why do you hate them?"

"Just the red ones," she slurs, her hand reaching forward to curl her fingers around the soft fabric. "They remind me of my childhood. Of everything gone wrong, of everything I _fucked up._ "

She allows her forehead to rest against his chest, unable to keep her eyes open any longer. "But I love you anyway."

She must have blacked out, because the next thing she knows she's on her feet, Aaron holding her upright in a death grip.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry." And she doesn't understand until there's the cold rim of a glass pressed against her lips. She tries to fight him off, but she can't, and despite her best efforts, the water finds a way down her throat anyway. _Only it's not just water._ She's coughing and spluttering, but it's no use. By the time the glass is empty she's more alert then she was before, but she's also feeling horribly sick.

"You shouldn't have," she presses, trying to fight the inevitable. "Why did you…" her voice breaks and she's doubled over, vomiting right where she's standing into the kitchen sink.

.

(She still remembers. She always would.)

.

* * *

.

 **The Things Between**

 _-still hoping that somehow-_

.

"I'm not suicidal."

Emily tells him from where she's sitting on her couch in the living room. Freshly dressed, her hair still wet from the shower. She's paler than usual, dark circles clearly visible under her eyes.

"I never said you were," he answers, and watches her close her eyes.

"Then please, Aaron, stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" he prompts, unable not to.

"Like I'm going to fall apart."

She appears to be calm, but he can hear the frustration and anger in her voice.

"You gave me no choice," he states, answering the question she's not asking. "It was either _this_ or calling an ambulance, and you know what that would have-"

"What are you even doing here?" she snaps. Her eyes burning when she looks up to meet his gaze.

"You didn't show up for work and you weren't answering your phone either. What was I supposed to do?"

She bites her lip as if trying to hold herself back.

"What happened?" he asks, his voice gentler now. "Is this about yesterday? About that man?"

"This has nothing to do with it!"

Her sudden outburst tells him otherwise. And of course she knows that herself. He watches as she shuts her eyes.

"I was angry and I had one drink too many; I don't remember anything else."

She looks embarrassed. Nervous. _Scared._ But there's something else. _Guilt._ And regret.

"Have you ever asked a question you thought you needed to know the answer to? And then, as soon as you had the answer, you wished you'd never asked the question in the first place?"" She meets his gaze again, showing him a vulnerability he'd only seen once before. _A lifetime ago._

"Don't ask me again," she half whispers. "Please."

It's the blank despair in her eyes that makes him close his own in defeat. They're both quiet for a long time. In the end it's he who makes the first step, crossing the room in two strides to sit down next to her.

"I'm sorry I ruined your suit," she states silently. Her gaze fixed somewhere on the floor.

Aaron shakes his head, reaches for her hand. "It's just a suit, Emily."

.

She falls asleep in his arms, with her head on his shoulder, their fingers tangled.

He keeps her close, a blanket pulled tightly around her body to keep her warm. And for the first time since he stepped into her apartment that morning, he allows himself _to think._

To think about the way he found her sitting on the kitchen floor in nothing but that black dress from the night before, the once soft fabric stiff and glittering with ice. About her hair frozen together at the ends, about her purple lips and her ghostly pale skin. About the windows in her apartment spread wide open, having invited in not only the cold, but snow and ice too. About the empty bottle of sleeping pills he found stuck under the kitchen counter, the familiar name on the front telling him that she took them from evidence back in that small town in Minnesota.

And he allows himself to think about that horrible second when he first laid eyes on her and thought he'd come too late.

 _She didn't remember._

Maybe it was about time he didn't either.

.

(He'd run away with her if he could.)

.

* * *

.

 **The Beginning**

 _-the end is where we begin-_

.

At the hospital they keep asking him questions Aaron can't answer, and the only reason they don't tell him to go away is his badge glittering in the fluorescent light.

He calls his supervisor first and agrees to stay with Emily until her mother arrives, while his supervisor promises to call the Ambassador himself to let her know what had happened.

He keeps sitting in the waiting room for what feels like hours until a nurse finally shows him to Emily's room.

She looks completely lost, and the sight of her hands strapped down to the bed makes Aaron shiver.

"It's only for her own good," the nurse tells him reassuringly before she leaves the room.

Aaron says nothing, _what does he know anyway_ , sits down on a chair next to her bed instead.

It's almost dawn when she opens her eyes for the first time.

"You shouldn't have done that," she whispers as soon as her eyes find his. Her voice hoarse and broken. She doesn't cry, but Aaron's never seen anyone look as devastated as she does.

She tries to move, but the straps hold her back and she frowns, trying to free herself.

Aaron moves without thinking, his warm hand closing over hers.

"Don't," he tells her as gently as possible. "Just go back to sleep."

"You're married," she murmurs, her eyes on his wedding band and a smile on her lips. "That's good," she states, her eyes fluttering shut. "Tell me about her, Matthew, tell me…" her voice trails off, and she's drifted back to sleep.

When she wakes again, she keeps talking about things he can't make sense of. She's still calling him Matthew, and even though Aaron has no idea who the boy is, he pretends to be him.

"I'm not mad at you, Emily," he assures her quietly, his hand still holding hers. "I've never been."

"Don't go, Matthew," she begs him when she opens her eyes for the third time. "Don't leave me."

"Sleep," he murmurs, his hand gently squeezing hers. "I'm here."

.

It takes her mother more than twelve hours to show up, and when she finally does, there's not a single emotion written on her face. There's no sign that she even recognizes him, and just like that Aaron knows there won't be a word about this night ever again.

 _It would be taken care of._

And he was supposed to forget it ever happened in the first place.

The moment Ambassador Prentiss steps up next to her daughter's hospital bed, Aaron turns and leaves without looking back.

.

(At least that's what he keeps telling himself).

.

* * *

.

 **The Aftermath**

 _-even when you lie to me-_

.

He wakes to the sound of laughter.

For a moment he keeps lying in the darkness of his bedroom, listening to Emily and Jack's voices from down the hallway. They're still laughing, and to him, it's the most beautiful sound in the world.

He finds them in the living room, Emily about to help Jack out of his snow boots. There are snowflakes in her hair and all over her black coat.

"It's snowing?" Aaron frowns.

Jack grins happily up at him. "We built a snowman," he announces proudly, and Aaron raises a brow.

"At 6.30 in the morning?"

Emily shrugs, _chuckles_. "It was now or never. Haley's going to pick him up in an hour."

"You should get dressed," she adds with a grin. "Jack's going to help me make breakfast, right?"

Jack nods, already on his way to the kitchen, while Emily places his boots next to her own.

.

By the time Aaron makes his way back to kitchen, there's already a cup of coffee waiting for him. Jack's playing with one of his toy cars on the table and Aaron's about to tell him to stop, when he sees that Jack is eating his cereal without having separated the different colors of his cereal loops.

"I like the green and pink ones now too," Jack states when he spots Aaron in the doorframe, and pushes a spoon full of cereal into his mouth.

"That's great," Aaron says, and sits down at the table between Jack and Emily. There's the hint of a smile on her face, and even without asking Aaron knows that whatever happened and whatever she did, it's her doing.

Now isn't the right time to ask, but he will later, and for now he just reaches for her hand and mouths a quiet _thank you_ when her gaze finds his.

"We got you something," Emily tells him with a meaningful look a few moments later, before placing a gift bag on the kitchen table. "Jack picked it," she adds. "I told him he could choose anything he likes as long as it's not red."

There's amusement in her eyes and Aaron fears the worst. _He's right._ He swallows and pushes himself to smile while he reaches for the achingly bright colored tie with reindeers on it.

"That's really-"

Emily and Jack burst into laughter at the same time, and Aaron can't help but laugh along with them.

"I love you, but please tell me I don't have to wear this."

Emily shakes her head, bites her lip, and Aaron watches as Jack hands him another gift bag.

"That's the right one, Daddy."

"When did the two of you go shopping? Clearly not at 6.30 in the morning." He gives Emily a side glance. "You didn't, right?"

She chuckles. "No, of course not. I picked him up from preschool on Wednesday and yes, of course, I asked Haley before I did."

Aaron frowns. "What did I miss?"

Emily just shrugs, pointing at the gift bag in his hand, motioning for him to open it.

"Do you like it?" she asks, and there's the hint of worry in her voice. Aaron smiles, reaching for the dark blue satin tie inside the bag. It's plain and simple and the darkest shade of blue he's ever seen. It's perfect.

"I do," he says, and looking over to Jack he adds: "Very good choice, buddy."

Jack grins and goes back to playing with his car, while Emily starts to clear the table. Her dark eyes glistening.

The shadows are still there, but they belong to a different time. _A lifetime ago._

It's what Aaron needs to believe anyway.

.

(He won't ever forget.)

.

* * *

.

 _He remembers the scent of patchouli._

 _The overwhelming scent of patchouli and a lonely girl, dancing barefoot in the snow._

.

* * *

 **.**

 **.**

* * *

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to their rightful owners.**


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